


It Was Always You

by fictrashdotcom



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21718882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictrashdotcom/pseuds/fictrashdotcom
Summary: When Caspar got his soulmark, Linhardt was amazed.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 18
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

When Caspar got his soulmark, Linhardt was amazed. He stared at his friend’s arm as though it were a mythical creature, something to be documented and talked about and  _ treasured _ . He studied Caspar’s arm whenever he could.

At dinnertimes, he would gaze at the soft swirls on Caspar’s skin and wonder why such a chaotic person got such a delicate mark. When they played outside - or rather, when Caspar played and Linhardt watched from his comfy napping spot - he would squint to focus on the ebony mark, ponder why Caspar had gotten his already, and why Linhardt had no sign of his own developing. As they settled down into their makeshift ‘den’, surrounded by the chirping sounds of the garden’s inhabitants, he would blink hard as he tried to process exactly what his friend’s mark was going to be. Sure, he had part of it already, but marks weren’t supposed to fully develop until you were at least sixteen. So that meant Linhardt had a good few years to spend looking at that half-finished mark, wondering what it was going to become.

In the autumntime, when they were both ten, Linhardt was invited over to Caspar’s house. Of course, this was no abnormal occurrence. They were forever bouncing between each other’s houses, rarely ever without each other. However, this time, it was a sleepover. And so Caspar had, naturally, already set up a pillow fort by the time Linhardt arrived. When Linhardt’s family’s carriage pulled into the driveway, Caspar came practically flying out the door, running down along the cobbled path and tearing towards his best friend with arms wide. Linhardt was a little taken aback by the hug that met him, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to, he supposed. As he was squeezed even tighter, Linhardt peered down at his friend’s arm. Sure enough, there was the mark. The set of spirals and whirls that adorned Caspar’s skin looked pretty as usual, and even more so in the late afternoon light.

“Come on!” Caspar released Linhardt from the hug and instead took his wrist, keeping it firmly in his grasp as he dragged Linhardt towards the house.

As tired as Linhardt was, he couldn't help but smile at Caspar’s enthusiasm. So, he complied as the hand tugged him along.

  
  


-

  
  


Caspar’s bedroom was a total mess. Blankets and pillows were everywhere, strewn across the floor and bed. But that didn’t detract from the fact that this was a specially-made fort, just for the occasion. So Linhardt appreciated it very much. 

“Do-ya like it?” Caspar asked eagerly.

“Yes.” was the short reply given by Linhardt, who was already sinking into the pillows.

“Hey! Don’t get too comfy! I wanna go outside for a bit before the sun sets.” Caspar hooked his fingers around Linhardt’s sleeve, disrupting the green-haired boy’s attempt at slumber. 

“Alright…” Linhardt yawned, and he was pulled away once again by Caspar’s soulmarked arm. At least that meant Linhardt had more time to inspect and ponder over his friend’s half-done mark.

When they got outside, Caspar finally released his hold on Linhardt’s sleeve and let him sit under a tree. As per usual, Caspar had already planned what game he wanted to play.

“Ok, so I’m the brave knight, and you’re a-”

“ _ Princess _ ?” Linhardt supplied.

Caspar blinked as though he was surprised. “No… you’re a prince.”

Linhardt sighed. “That’s not how the stories go, Caspar.”

“Well… does it have to be?”

Linhardt thought for a moment. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Caspar ran over to his pile of toys by the side of the house and brought back a wooden sword.

“This is the castle tower.” he said, gesturing animatedly at the area where Linhardt was sitting. “And you’re trapped!”

Linhardt laughed and put a hand to his head, sighing as he leant back against the tree. “Oh, whatever shall I do? Trapped, helpless, in this tall, tall tower. Only a true hero could save me now.”

“Have no fear!  _ I’ll _ save you!” Caspar declared, hurrying back to the house to collect several dozen stuffed animals. When he returned, he threw them across the lawn in a trail to Linhardt, then immediately took up a fight with one of them. “But I gotta fight these bad guys first!” he yelled, attacking a plush crocodile toy.

Linhardt smiled to himself as he watched Caspar run about, defeating the enemies one by one and shouting rather loudly as he did so. 

Many minutes later, Caspar was down to his last enemy. Linhardt yawned as he gazed at him keenly. Somehow, even though it had been so long since he started, the fight was just as intriguing as the first. Tired as he was, Linhardt was still happy to watch. And even happier when he realised that Caspar was now close enough to give Linhardt a proper view of his soulmark. It truly was a masterpiece. He could stare at that thing for hours…

“Lin!  _ Hellooooo?  _ I said, you’ve been rescued!”

“H-huh?” 

“I’ve rescued you, sleepy prince!”

“Oh, right…” Linhardt stretched and rubbed his eyes. Then, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster (not a lot), he said: “Thank you, brave knight.”

Caspar dropped his sword on the grass and came to sit beside Linhardt. Clearly, the game was over now. And Linhardt may or may not have been the one to ruin it.

“Are you ok? You were totally out of it!”

“I was just… your mark…”

“What?”

“Nothing…”

Linhardt could tell that Caspar wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but he didn’t really feel like explaining. They rarely talked about soulmarks, and if they did, it wasn’t about Caspar’s specifically. Linhardt didn’t think he’d be able to explain his fascination with his friend’s mark anyway, even if he wanted to. He looked up to the sky, and for once, it gave him an answer:

“It’s nearly sunset… which means it must be about eight o’clock. We should go inside.”

“Oh.” Caspar looked sullen, and Linhardt felt a pinch of regret for pointing that out.

“We still have tomorrow morning to play!” Linhardt said, forcing some cheer into his voice. He couldn’t stand it when Caspar seemed upset.

Thankfully, his friend’s expression lifted. 

“Yeah! I can save you again tomorrow!” Caspar jumped up and grabbed his sword again, then pointed it at an innocent-looking teddy bear. “Don’t you dare come near Prince Linhardt whilst he - sl-slum… what’s that fancy word for sleep?”

Linhardt laughed. “ _ Slumber _ .”

“Right! Don’t you dare try any funny business while the Prince slumbers! I’ll be right there to take you down!” Caspar swung his sword round - as a warning, Linhardt supposed - then took Linhardt by the wrist and pulled him up.

“My  _ saviour _ .” Linhardt mumbled, tiredness setting in. He allowed Caspar to guide him back indoors. He was surprisingly gentle as he dragged him along - as though he really were a knight, Linhardt thought. 

A little while later, after clothes were changed and teeth were brushed, they settled down into the Caspar-arranged pillow fortress. Linhardt was much too weary to talk, so they simply exchanged ‘goodnight’s and closed their eyes.

The familiarity of sleep was oddly exciting to Linhardt, knowing that he was, in fact, at Caspar’s house, and not his own. That’s not to say he didn’t fall asleep incredibly quickly, of course.

  
  


-

  
  


_ “LinLinLinLinLin!” _

Linhardt’s eyes flickered open, adjusting to the morning light.

“What…” he yawned. “...time… is it?”

“You got your soulmark!  _ Look!”  _ Not the answer he wanted, but an answer that he much preferred.  _ Him? Soulmark? Now? _

“I what?!” Linhardt had never heard his voice sound so elated. “Where?”

Caspar pointed a finger and Linhardt followed it straight to… the back of his hand? What an odd place for a mark. But that was besides the point - he had his soulmark!  _ Finally! _

There it was, on the back of his left hand, a criss-crossing pattern like lattice. 

“ _ Goddess _ ...” Linhardt whispered. “I can’t believe it!”

“It’s so cool!” Caspar said - too loudly, Linhardt noted. “Oh, and it’s…” He leaned over to look at the clock. “Half five.”

Linhardt groaned. The excitement of getting his mark was wearing off, and he suddenly felt tired… very tired… 

“Going… back… to sleep…” he said between yawns, eyes fluttering shut. His mark could wait to be properly inspected until sunrise.

Linhardt heard Caspar sigh and lay back down beside him with a _ thump. “Boring.”  _ He thought he heard him mutter. But, reluctant though he may have been, Caspar settled down to sleep. 

Well, at least Linhardt figured he must’ve gone back to sleep, because when he woke up again at seven o'clock, Caspar was still there beside him.

Linhardt could feel a faint stinging sensation in his hand as he sat up, yawning. He gazed down at his hand and his eyes were met with the unfamiliar sight of a soulmark.  _ His  _ soulmark. He simply couldn’t wrap his head around it, as though he had dreamt up the whole thing… except, no, it wasn’t a dream, because the prickly feeling under his skin was getting more and more noticeable, and less and less bearable -  _ “Ow.”  _ Linhardt said, voice crackling with another yawn. Despite the growing pain, his body apparently thought it was still necessary to remind him that he was tired. He shoved several pillows and blankets to the side as he got up, mind leafing through every page of every book he’d ever read on soulmarks. He knew that pain came with it, and that the pain could be delayed until a few hours after getting the mark just like his was, but he could not for the life of him remember what you were supposed to do to  _ stop _ that pain.  _ Could _ it be stopped? Goddess, he hoped so.

He stumbled out into the hallway and to the left of Caspar’s room, habit kicking in as his feet took him down the stairs and into the kitchen. Having been at his friend’s house something like a hundred times, he knew the layout just as well as his own home. And he was glad at that fact now more than ever, because the pain in his hand was very much at the forefront of his mind.

Once in the kitchen, he went straight to the sink and ran water over the mark. Cold water might numb the feeling, right? But, frustratingly, it seemed to have no effect. If anything, the pain was getting worse. Linhardt had absolutely no clue what to do. And he  _ never  _ had no clue. It was incredibly unsettling to feel so helpless, standing there in the dark of the kitchen with a sharp pain that he could do nothing about. His eyes flicked around the room, searching for something,  _ anything,  _ to help him. 

A moment later, however, a figure appeared in the hallway, cradling the flame of a candle in their hands. 

“Linhardt, dear, what are you doing down here at this hour?” It was Caspar’s mother.

He tried to say something of an apology, but he was too distracted by his hand. “Looking for -  _ ah _ \- something… for my hand.” 

“Your hand? What’ve you done to it?” she stepped onto the cold tile of the kitchen and stretched a hand out. Linhardt placed his own in hers and mumbled a weak, “Soulmark...”

“Ah, I see.” she said softly, bringing him over to the counter and placing down the candle. Linhardt tried to distract himself from the pain by watching her intently as she took various bottles out of the cabinet, checking the labels of each. After several - painful - moments, she opened the cap of one particularly green bottle and emptied some of its contents onto a cloth. It was almost peaceful as she dabbed the cloth over his hand, soothing the prickling under his skin. _ Almost.  _

A thunder of footsteps came crashing down the hallway, followed by a shout of, “LIN!”

“Caspar! Do _ not _ shout. You’ll wake your father.” Caspar’s mother reprimanded him. Linhardt was surprised to hear such sternness in her voice. He knew that Caspar’s parents played favourites with their children, and, being the second son, Caspar was the less favoured one. But Linhardt never understood why they liked him less.

“Sorry…” Caspar wavered, pattering into the kitchen behind his mother. 

Linhardt could see curiosity etched on Caspar’s face, but he was very obviously resisting the urge to ask what was going on for fear of his mother getting angry at him. Instead, he lingered behind her, peering around as she swiped the cloth over Linhardt’s hand once more. 

“Does that feel better now?” she asked Linhardt. He found it almost disturbing how softly she spoke to him, compared to how she spoke to her own son.

Nevertheless, the pain had ebbed away thanks to her help. So, of course, he was grateful. “Yes, much. Thank you, Mrs Bergliez.” 

Caspar’s mother nodded, then proceeded to tidy the array of medicines back into the cupboard, all the while with Caspar seeming to buzz with questions that he so desperately wanted to shout across the kitchen. To his credit, he was being unusually restrained, Linhardt thought. Eventually, with a satisfied look on her features, Mrs Bergliez ushered them back to Caspar’s room, told them to ‘settle down or play quietly’, then returned to her own quarters.

“It was hurting?” Caspar asked as soon as the door was shut. 

“Huh?”

“Your mark. Was it hurting? Like, real bad?”

“Yes…” Linhardt gazed down at his hand. It didn’t hurt at all now, thank the Goddess.

“Oh. Mine was only a tingle when I got it. Or maybe I’m just so tough that I barely felt it!” Caspar laughed then continued to babble on, all the while Linhardt felt himself slouching down into the pillows and staring deeply at his new mark.

It came to mind that he hadn’t actually fully  _ looked  _ at his mark until now. Not truly,  _ properly _ . So, of course, that was now his priority. As he had shortly concluded earlier (before falling asleep), it was much like latticework. The mark was made up of about… seven, he counted, lines that intersected eachother. As it was only the first development, it wasn’t much yet, but Linhardt still found it fascinatingly complex. And it was  _ his! _

“Lin?”

Linhardt jolted from his thoughts. “Huh? Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to stop listening, I just… I can’t believe I’ve got my mark.”

“Oh! Yeah, it’s totally cool!”

“Mm…” Linhardt wasn’t sure ‘cool’ was a word he’d use to describe it, but it was certainly  _ something _ . A yawn rose in his throat. He glanced at the clock and decided it was still an appropriate time to return to slumber. After all, Caspar’s mother had gone back to bed, so why couldn’t he?

“I’m going to sleep.” he announced to Caspar, pulling a blanket over himself.

_ “Linnnnhardtttt!  _ You can’t keep waking up then going to bed again!”

“I can and I will. Goodnight.”

“It’s  _ morning!” _

“Good morning.” Linhardt said with a firm finality, before closing his eyes.

Caspar gave an exasperated sigh, which would normally indicate the moment where Linhardt felt a smidge of sympathy and got up to play a game with him. However, Linhardt was far too exhausted for such activities. As it turned out, soulmarks were rather tiring. Or, at least, his seemed to be. So, he drifted off into the realm of dreams as Caspar began to throw toys all across the floor. It wasn’t exactly a quiet place to be resting in, but it was peace enough for Linhardt.

Just before sleep took its entire hold, a thought passed through his mind. He pondered briefly at his friendship with the blue-haired boy (who, if he was hearing things correctly, was acting out a fight between a knight and a monster.) As much as he did love to lecture his friend about manners or loudness, Linhardt couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather be spending his time with. Nobles were a boring, arrogant lot, so Caspar made for a refreshing change. 

Though he may not say it often, Linhardt really did enjoy Caspar’s presence. Even if he was asleep most of the time they were together.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be alternating between POVs - this chapter is from Caspar's perspective! Enjoy!

It was the sixth day of the Red Wolf Moon, and Caspar was staring at the clock. There were precisely three minutes til midnight, but Linhardt was still tucked away in the corner of the room, deeply engrossed in a book.

“Lin, come _on!_ Look at the time! Aren’t you excited?”

Linhardt sighed dramatically and craned his neck up to see the clock. 

“Two minutes now!” Caspar said, bouncing up and down on the bed.

“Caspar,” Linhardt began flatly, “please, for my sake, calm down.”

Caspar threw himself back onto the bed and laid still. “Alright.” he huffed. “But only because it’s your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“It will be! In one minute!”

“Caspar…”

“Come on, it’s _exciting!_ Why aren’t you excited?”

Linhardt said nothing, and instead returned to his book.

“Ten… nine… eight… seven-”

“Caspar.”

Caspar sat up and continued: “Five! Four! Three!”

_“Caspar!_ ”

“One!”

Linhardt scowled up at his friend, who had stood back up on the bed and was singing a pitchy rendition of _Happy Birthday_.

“...happy birthday to Lin-hardtttt, happy bir-” Caspar was cut off by a teddy bear thrown in his direction. He ducked and turned to see it hit the wall. Much to Linhardt’s apparent dismay, this only exhilarated Caspar further. “Woo! Killer reflexes, what did I tell ya?” He started to bounce on the bed once again.

“Please… stop.” Linhardt sounded exhausted, but Caspar couldn’t fathom why. He’d been sitting there with his nose in a book for the past _hour_. Caspar could think of a million activities more energy-draining than that.

“Come on, Lin, why are you being such a spoil-sport? You’re never _this_ bad.” 

“I-”

“Oh, and you’re thirteen now! How does it feel?”

“I’m sure you could tell me, Caspar - your birthday was just a few months ago.”

“Hm, yeah. It doesn’t feel much different, does it? I mean, it never does, but I still expect it to be different each year, like maybe one time it’ll feel-”

“Caspar, _please_ keep it down.”

“Hey, I’m not that noisy! Besides, your parents are on the other side of the house, there’s no way they can hear me.”  
  


“I think you underestimate how loud you are.”

Caspar would’ve liked to keep jumping on the bed, but as the room fell quiet for a moment, he could hear the springs creaking beneath his feet. He opted to remove himself from the situation before he ended up breaking something. Just as Caspar jumped off the bed, Linhardt yawned and spoke again, “For your information, I don’t particularly enjoy getting older.”

Caspar laughed. “No one enjoys getting _old_. It’s the actual birthday that’s fun. Party time!”

Linhardt set down his book. Caspar took this as an indicator that things were about to get _serious,_ so he stepped over the spread of encyclopedias on the carpet and sat cross-legged next to his friend. 

“You know I’m not one for parties, Caspar.”

“Ok, maybe not parties, but at least have some birthday cake!”

“I don’t have a birthday cake.”

“I’ll make you one!”

“No, Caspar. That’s not the point. And besides, you’re atrocious at baking.”

Caspar sighed. “What _is_ the point, then?”

“My father keeps pestering me about noble responsibilities. More so than before.” Linhardt let his words hang in the air for a while. Caspar wondered if he was supposed to say something, but he couldn’t see how noble life related to birthdays in the slightest.

Linhardt stared at Caspar. Caspar stared back. 

“Caspar.”

“Yeah?”

Linhardt sighed and tossed his head back, emerald hair tousling in the motion. It reminded Caspar of the dramatic sighs Linhardt used to do when they played ‘brave knight rescues sleepy prince’. Caspar really wished they’d come up with a cooler name for that game.

“Birthdays are a sore reminder of my inevitable noble duties.” Linhardt said, still looking at the ceiling.

“...huh?”

“The older I get, the closer I am to having to get married and produce a crest-bearing heir.”

“Ew.” Caspar said, though he didn’t really mean to. It just kind of slipped out.

But Linhardt gave a short laugh, and suddenly Caspar was thankful that he didn’t think before speaking, because it meant that his friend’s features were brightened up a bit. He had looked utterly miserable only a moment beforehand.

_“‘Ew.’”_ Linhardt said in a mocking tone.

“Hey!”

“I do agree, though. ‘Ew’ indeed.” Linhardt finally brought his gaze down from the ceiling and looked at Caspar. “So, do you see why I don’t like birthdays?”

“I guess, yeah.”

Linhardt raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah… yeah! Totally.”

“Alright, then explain it back to me.”

Caspar huffed and poked Linhardt’s arm gently. “I’m not _stupid_.”

Linhardt looked serious again. “I know.” Then a small smile rose up from the corners of his mouth. “So you’ll have no trouble explaining it yourself.” His smile only grew when he saw the indignant expression Caspar was putting on. 

Caspar had never been good at masking his emotions, though, so he soon began to laugh. “Alright, alright. So.” He cleared his throat. “Linhardt von Hevring _hates_ birthdays because every year his father nags him about being a noble and having crest-kids. The older he gets, the more he’s nagged.”

Linhardt chuckled, presumably at ‘crest-kids’, and Caspar secretly felt proud that he’d gotten another laugh out of him.

“That was a faultless explanation, Caspar. Well done.”

Caspar seized the opportunity to jump up and give a bow. “Thank you, thank you.”

He sat back down and they were silent for a moment. Then, lacking a brain-to-mouth filter as usual, Caspar blurted out: “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Linhardt turned and gave him a (deserved) questioning look. Caspar considered explaining himself, except he didn’t really know how to. It was just, sort of, related to what they were talking about? Or maybe it was that he’d been wondering about it for a little while now and was dying to ask. Perhaps it was more due to the latter. 

The pair continued to look at each other, until Linhardt apparently got over the strangeness of the moment. “Yes.” he said.

“Wait, what?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There wasn’t anything to say. It was uneventful.”

“Yeah, but it still happened! What was it like?”

“Tedious.”

“Meaning…”

“It was uninteresting and I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“It’s just…” Caspar didn’t know why he was actually pausing to think _now_ , when he clearly wasn’t doing so earlier. “When… when was it?”

Linhardt looked at him funny again, almost analytical. “I don’t know, Caspar. Maybe… a moon ago? Two moons?”

“Wow, ok. So… who was it?”

“A girl at the market.” Linhardt spoke bluntly, and Caspar could tell he wasn’t engaged in the slightest. But they were best friends, so they _had_ to tell each other this stuff! And Caspar had so many questions.

“So it wasn’t, like, special? _Magical?”_

“Goddess, Caspar, no! It was boring and meaningless and I don’t care to try it again anytime soon.”

“I… don’t get it. Aren’t first kisses supposed to be amazing?”

“ _Supposed_ to be. However, I’m inclined to believe that kissing someone you hardly know isn’t ever going to be _magical_.”

“But-”

Linhardt yawned and stretched, then stood up. “I’m exhausted. Goodnight.”

Caspar instantly felt bad. He’d been the one to insist they stayed up late. It was a miracle that Linhardt had even made it to nine o’clock. 

“Ok… g’night, Lin.” Caspar watched as Linhardt tucked himself into bed, covers pulled right up to his chin. He looked cosy.

He soon felt a loss of heat as the air around him lost the presence of his best friend. Caspar wasn’t even the slightest bit tired yet. He’d eaten a whole plate of cookies about an hour prior, telling Linhardt inbetween bites that if he wasn’t going to celebrate his own birthday, then Caspar was going to do it for him. Looking back, that probably wasn’t such a good idea for a number of reasons.

Reason one: Caspar now had terrible stomach ache. Jumping on the bed seemed to have made it worse.

Reason two: Linhardt really didn’t like celebrating his birthday (though Caspar had only come to understand the real meaning of that just now), and it likely made him feel worse when Caspar was endlessly going on about it.

Caspar frowned and looked around the room. Linhardt’s quarters were less walls and more bookshelves. The only places where the bland wallpaper was visible were the locations of his desk and bed. Upon arrival that morning, Caspar had insisted that Linhardt slept in his own bed, instead of joining Caspar on the make-do blankets folded up on the floor. Of course, the main reason for his demand was the sole driving force behind all of his actions that day - it was Linhardt’s birthday. But, in Caspar’s defence, that wasn’t the _only_ reason. He also did so because he knew how much Linhardt valued sleep, and, as a result, valued his own bed. Sure, he could fall asleep just about anywhere, but he’d be far more comfortable under his own covers.

Linhardt sighed. It was a content sigh, Caspar decided. That made him feel slightly better - though he suddenly realised he didn’t have much to do. There was no way he could sleep yet with so much sugar still running through his body. His gaze wandered round the room, and then, for the first time in quite possibly years, it settled on his soulmark. 

Soulmarks, Caspar had decided, were weird. For something so romanticised, they sure were divisive. One minute people were talking about how excited they were to meet their soulmate, and the next they were going on and on and _on_ about how their soulmate’s social status could be different from theirs, and how terrible that would be. Caspar didn’t think it was that big of a deal if a noble’s soulmate was a commoner, but then again he didn’t really understand a lot of things in the world. At dinner a few weeks ago, he was on the receiving end of another one of his father’s rants (whilst his brother just sat there, smugly chewing on some broccoli). Caspar had blurted out rather off-handedly that he didn’t ‘get’ politics, and his father’s face went promptly crimson. He was dismissed from the table before they got around to dessert, and was later given a chat about how, despite being the second son of the family, he was still expected to be an ‘exemplary noble’, and if he didn’t start caring very soon then he could expect punishment coming his way. Safe to say, Caspar was careful to think before speaking in front of his father again. However, he still couldn’t quite understand what all the fuss was about. At the end of the day, he was an optimist, and so he believed that surely soulmates must be a good thing. _Surely,_ whoever your soul is tied to will make you happy, regardless of their social standing.

Caspar’s soulmark was something he’d almost forgotten about. It was just so normal for him now, to see it laying there on his arm, that he never really gave it much thought. But now, sitting in the dim light of Linhardt’s room with nothing better to do, he decided to give it a better look. His soulmark was a few curling lines that all came from a central point. It wasn’t much, since it was only the first development, but it looked… nice, he supposed.

His brother always teased him about his mark. Relentlessly, sometimes. Caspar felt a sudden jolt, for lack of a better word, in his stomach as the memory from several moons ago came floating back through his mind. They had been sitting out in the garden when his brother had jabbed his arm with his elbow, making some snide comment about how _‘feminine’_ his mark looked. Caspar had said, “duh, cos my soulmate’s a girl, idiot,” and his brother laughed in that frustrating way he always did, as if he knew something that Caspar didn’t. Caspar shoved him off the bench.

He looked at his mark again now. He didn’t see what his brother meant. Lines couldn’t be feminine, could they? They were just swirls! And anyway, his brother made stuff up all the time to annoy him - it’s what he did best. So he shouldn’t really take his words for gospel, right?

Caspar sighed. After all that staring and thinking, maybe he _was_ more tired than he thought. He shuffled over on all-fours to the blankets on the floor. Clambering into them and burrowing down, he felt a quiet sort of happiness as he heard Linhardt’s soft breathing from beneath his own covers. Just as he was closing his eyes, Caspar made a pledge to himself that he’d let Linhardt sleep til at least nine in the morning. He could sneak out the room when he woke up ‘too early’ no problem if it meant his best friend got the extra rest that he always wanted.

It was his birthday, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> perhaps... a realizashun… also Caspar’s brother makes an appearance (sorry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rise from the dead many months later and present you this update... apologies if there's any inconsistencies (please let me know), it's been a while, to say the least.

The shine of the moon bounced off the stark white pages of Linhardt’s newly-purchased tome. Its finely curved letters told him an array of fascinating facts about his latest obsession: birds. Linhardt always had one topic on his brain that he was deeply engrossed in. Why his current choice for research was birds, he had no clue. But here he was, staying up late to read about feeding habits, nest building, and habitats. Linhardt wished he never had to stop reading. But alas, his parents would never allow him to read late into the night. That is, if they knew he was doing it.

This was one of those rare times when fatigue didn’t seem to catch up to Linhardt. He had all the energy in the world - well, all the  _ mental _ energy in the world. He could keep reading and learning and understanding and thinking until his eyes dropped focus. So that’s just what he did.

At 2:49am, Linhardt turned in for bed. He’d been deep in a chapter about aquatic birds when a yawn escaped his mouth. His eyes soon got the memo, flickering shut every few seconds before Linhardt finally gave in and bookmarked the tome. He always hated having to pause part-way through his reading material, but he really couldn’t read anymore.

He dragged his body into bed, back sloped in a terrible arch from reading all that time, and slept. He slept well, all things considered. But he also woke up with a crick in his neck.

  
  


-

  
  


The condition of his neck was not ideal, considering that Linhardt's parents were taking him on their visit to the Bergliez estate at lunchtime. He was sure that there was some sort of stretch you could do to un-knot it, but he was also sure that he didn't know it. He decided to read up on stretches later and settle for the mild discomfort in the meantime.

His parents hurried him out the door in his best clothes and into the carriage, setting off for the Bergliez estate at the annoyingly early time of 10:30am. Linhardt would have protested against the formalwear, but not only was that too much effort, it was also technically a political visit. Therefore, he had to appear 'presentable'. His parents did not qualify his regular slouchy garments as 'presentable'.

The ride to the estate was generally unpleasant, with sunshine attacking Linhardt’s eyes and the clack of the horses’ hooves pounding a rhythm into his brain. He was surprised that he didn’t have a headache once they arrived.

Caspar greeted Linhardt in his usual manner. He soared out the door like, well, Linhardt didn’t know what, and launched into a hug. Linhardt was glad to see that Caspar had also been forced into formality; he was wearing a vest over a crisp, white shirt, and his shoes had clearly been shined. That meant Linhardt wasn’t suffering in discomfort alone (although, Linhardt thought, Caspar looked arguably better in such attire than himself). 

Linhardt’s father instructed him to ‘go somewhere out of the way’ whilst the adults went inside the house to talk about whatever nonsense they needed to. And so, Linhardt found himself standing under a tree in the Bergliez house’s garden with his best friend of seven years. The same garden they used to play together in almost every week, the same garden where Caspar ‘rescued’ him from monsters, the same garden where they would sit back to back and talk until Linhardt fell asleep.

Linhardt was about to sit down, but he realised Caspar was very silent. They’d exchanged greetings when Linhardt arrived and had chatted a little on the way to the garden, but now Caspar had nothing to say. There was clearly something on his mind. He was always talking, after all. He talked when Linhardt didn’t have the energy to.

“Hey, so, I have a question.” Caspar said suddenly. It was quick and Linhardt barely caught what he had said.

“Hm?”

“You know that time a couple moons ago?”

Linhardt stared out at the garden blankly. “No, I don’t. Elaborate.”

“Your birthday.”

“Ah. Yes. What about it?”

“Well, I… I don’t wanna bother you again but I, like, really need to ask…”

“Spit it out, then.”

“So you know how you said you’d kissed a girl?”

Linhardt sighed. This again. “ _ Yes _ …”

“And you said it wasn’t nice?”

“Yes. What about it, Caspar?”

“Well you said she was just some random girl at the market, right?”

“Right…”

“So I guess it makes sense that it wasn’t nice.”

“Ok. Is that all?”

“No! No… I just…” Caspar stuttered. It was obvious to Linhardt that these words were not rehearsed. Or, if they were, then they were done so very poorly. “Well, you see, I kinda, like, kissed someone the other day-“

“Caspar,  _ please _ get to the point already. You’re talking incredibly slowly.”

“Ok, ok! The thing is, I kissed someone the other day, but it wasn’t just some random girl, it was the daughter of one of my father’s friends, and we’ve known each other for a year or two now, and I think my father was kinda trying to set me up with her, because her family is pretty high-up or something, and so we were talking the other day, and we kissed, and I just-” 

Linhardt raised a hand up to stop him. Caspar sucked in a large breath, exhaled, then took in another. 

“I didn’t mean you have to talk incredibly quickly, either.” Linhardt said. “Take…” he winced, “take your time.” 

Caspar took another deep breath, then began again, “So I… we kissed. And I thought it would be great, because I know her pretty well, and she’s, well…  _ pretty _ . I thought it would be nice. But it was just… gross.”

“Perhaps you just don’t like her that way.”

“Yeah, but I  _ know _ her. Anyone else in my shoes would’ve loved it, right?”

“Not necessarily-”

“It just felt… I don’t know. Weird.”

Linhardt stared at Caspar for a moment. His wild hair was ruffled in the breeze. “Well, maybe you’re not attracted to women.”

“...what?”

Every part of Caspar’s expression told Linhardt that this was not information he was expecting, and that he really shouldn’t have said it. But he’d already committed to it, so... “You might be attracted to men.” he said simply.

“Oh.” Caspar said, then took a very, very long pause. 

In the silence, Linhardt decided to take in the scenery. He looked at the trees, the grass, the dirt, the sky, then decided that it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. The look on Caspar’s face, however, was something he’d never seen before.

“That’s a thing?” Caspar asked eventually.

“Yes, Caspar.”

“Oh.  _ Oh _ .” 

Linhardt laughed, then immediately regretted it.

“Hey! I just… I didn’t know that was an option.”

“So you mentioned.”

Caspar opened his mouth again to speak, but promptly shut it, apparently thinking it better not to. Linhardt felt as though he could see the cogs turning in his head.

“Ok.” Caspar said, after a moment. “Ok.”

“Caspar-“

“Huh?”

“I think you need to sit down.” Linhardt said. Caspar was swaying on the spot, like the gentle waves of the ocean. It was quite hypnotic. But also quite concerning. 

When Caspar did nothing, Linhardt took initiative and pulled him down by the sleeve to sit under the tree.

“Please don’t start overthinking.” Linhardt said in an attempt to bring him back to reality. 

“I won’t - I’m not - I just -” Caspar laid back on the grass, hands over his face. “I didn’t  _ know. _ ” He said quietly, words muffled by his palms. 

Linhardt knew very well that he shouldn’t overload Caspar with information. But, to be fair, he didn’t think this was  _ that _ much to take in. He decided the best thing to do was to give his friend a moment to turn over his thoughts, so he laid down next to him and closed his eyes.

Several minutes later, Caspar spoke out into the silence, "Linhardt, I'm kind of freaking out right now." 

Linhardt held back a chuckle. "I can tell."

"What if - what if I do? Like, not like-like girls."

"That's a lot of likes."

Caspar groaned slightly and shifted to look at Linhardt. "I'm trying to be serious."

"Apologies. Go on."

Caspar looked away. His voice quiet, he said, “My father's always said I gotta marry a noblewoman, same as you. But if I don’t-”

“Caspar, give yourself time. You don’t know who you do and don’t like. You only just found out that-”

“I know!” Caspar burst out, covering his face again. 

"Besides, this was just one girl, yes? That's hardly a lot of evidence to make a conclusion."

Caspar scrunched up his nose. "That sounds awful sciencey, Lin."

"Science is everywhere, Caspar." Linhardt mocked, letting a laugh escape his lips.

A comfy silence began to grow, and they nestled in it for a while.

  
  


-

  
  


"Hey, Lin?" Caspar asked, about half an hour later. The sun was high in the sky now, radiating warmth. 

Linhardt's eyes flickered open. He'd dozed off. "Mm?"

"If, hyp-o… hyp-o-"

"Hypothetically." Linhardt supplied.

"Right. If, hyp-o-thet-ic-ally, I didn't like-like girls… then would that mean my soulmate… would be a boy?"

Linhardt nodded. "Presumably."

"Huh. Ok."

Linhardt peered over to see Caspar inspecting his soulmark, tracing a finger over the swirls. It was strange to see him actually acknowledge his mark. Usually, he was too busy bouncing off the walls to pay attention to such things. 

Suddenly, a growl interrupted the silence of the garden. Ah, yes, it was Linhardt’s stomach. He hadn’t had the chance to eat breakfast before leaving for the estate.

“Caspar, do you suppose I could have some food?”

“Huh? Yeah. Yeah, we can go inside.” Caspar said distractedly.

Linhardt stood up and stared expectantly at Caspar, who was still sitting cross-legged on the grass. It took him several moments to realise Linhardt was waiting.

“Oh, right. You meant right now.”

Linhardt rolled his eyes. “Yes, Caspar, I meant right now.”

  
  


-

  
  


The two boys pattered into the house and made their way to the kitchen. On the countertop lay several ceramic bowls covered with checkered cloths. 

“We had these prepared for lunch, but you can have some now.” Caspar said, uncovering one of the bowls. 

Linhardt heard his stomach grumble again as he saw the pasta inside the bowl. Caspar chuckled - he must’ve heard it. 

As Caspar went to the cupboards to find a plate, Linhardt ambled into the dining room and plopped down on a chair. He put his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands, and gazed at the room. He’d been here so many times, but this room still interested him. The decor was… odd. 

On one wall, there was a huge painting of The Bergliez family. Linhardt couldn’t help but notice every time he saw it how Caspar’s brother smirked, how his parents turned their heads upwards ever so slightly, and how Caspar himself looked downright miserable. Linhardt supposed the painter the family had commissioned was one who favoured painting exactly what they saw, because Caspar definitely wore that expression when he was around his family. The painting was scarily accurate.

Opposite the wall with the painting was a wall adorned with medals, certificates, ribbons…  _ achievements _ . Linhardt supposed they enjoyed eating in the presence of their successes. Having looked at them before, he already knew that most of them belonged to Caspar’s brother; wins in team sports, victories in martial arts tournaments, triumphs in-

“Well, well, well.” A voice came echoing from the corridor. Linhardt jumped. 

As though summoned by Linhardt looking at his achievements, in came Caspar’s brother, boots thudding on the floorboards. His blue hair was greasy and slicked back, and Linhardt couldn’t help but furrow his brows. 

“Funny seeing you here,” he continued. “Didn’t know you’d been invited for a little playdate.”

Linhardt didn’t particularly see the use in talking to him, since he was going to keep speaking regardless. He always did. 

“Where’s Caspar? Thought you two were, like, attached at the hip or somethin’.” He came further into the dining room and looked around, as though he expected Caspar to be hiding amongst the furniture. “Did he ditch you? The little b-”

“He’s in the kitchen.” Linhardt cut in, glaring. 

Just then, Caspar walked in, holding a plate laiden with pasta salad and an expression on his face that almost exactly matched the one in the painting.

“Ah,  _ Caspar _ , we were just talking about you!” his brother said loudly. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be with father?” Caspar asked, very obviously trying to keep his back straight and shoulders square. 

“I was. But I’m here for food.” 

“Well go get your own. This plate’s for Lin.” Caspar placed the dish on the table and pulled out a chair to sit next to Linhardt.

“Ooo,  _ sorry _ .” his brother mocked. He remained looming over the table.

“I mean it.” Caspar said through gritted teeth. “Go. Away.”

His brother laughed idiotically and reached out a hand to mess up Caspar’s hair. “Someone should teach you some manners.” he said, before turning to leave. 

“Hypocrite.” Linhardt muttered.

He looked over at Caspar, whose aquamarine eyes were glazed over and unusually dull. His hair was now a horrible mess. Linhardt couldn’t help but reach out a hand to fix it. Caspar turned to him as he did so - whether it was because he was surprised or not, Linhardt couldn’t tell.

“Sorry about him.” Caspar said quietly.

Linhardt drew back his hand and shook his head. “Don’t apologise. It’s hardly your fault.”

As Linhardt picked up his fork and poked at a piece of pasta, Caspar shuffled his chair closer and folded his arms on the table, resting his head on top of them. He still looked troubled. Linhardt wasn’t sure what to say, so he resolved to just eat his food. But not before he gave one last look at his friend’s sullen face, wishing there was some way he could help.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (added Caspar's brother as a character tag since he had dialogue in this chapt)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just two teens being bros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very soft chapter simply because I Can. also they deserve it.

Caspar was pretty sure Linhardt had no idea how to make a cake, but neither did he, so he wasn’t about to question his friend’s methods. He was sitting on the floor of the kitchen in the Hevring’s house, drumming his fingers against the sole of his shoe whilst Linhardt stared thoughtfully at a bowl of batter.

“I may have added too much flour.” Linhardt stated, turning to look at Caspar. 

“Then just take some out?”

“You can’t just  _ take it out _ , Caspar.” Linhardt replied, shaking his head. “It’s  _ mixed _ .”

“Uh… then add more butter?”

Linhardt groaned and set down the spoon he’d been holding. “Why is this so _ arduous?” _

Caspar jumped up from the floor and came to stand next to him. He peered into the bowl. The mixture was thick and dough-like, though he didn’t see why that would be a problem. A cake is a cake, right? Surely it would still be delicious.

“Let’s just cook it.” Caspar said. He grabbed the bowl and haphazardly poured the lumpy mix into the cake mould set out on a tray.

Linhardt’s face crinkled. “ _ Bake  _ it. You don’t cook a cake, you bake it.”

“Same difference.” Caspar said, taking the tray off the counter and opening the oven door. The warmth it emitted was pleasant; being the middle of winter, it was incredibly cold outside and hardly warm inside, either. Caspar held his hands out by the oven for a moment after putting the tray inside, catching the heat on his fingers before closing the door and pulling the sleeves of his sweater back over his hands. 

“I seriously doubt it’s going to turn out well.” Linhardt huffed.

“Oh, come  _ on _ Lin! It’s fine. I’ll eat it all if you don’t want it anyways.”

Linhardt scrunched up his nose but said nothing.

“At least this is good practice for when we make my birthday cake.” Caspar said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Linhardt sighed and leant against the wall. “You’re still insisting that we make it ourselves?”

“Yeah, duh! It’s my sixteenth birthday. It’s gotta be a special cake.”

“Well, it’s still six moons away.”

“I know, but we’re really bad at this, so we gotta practice early.”

“We are rather terrible.” Linhardt said with a chuckle.

They gazed out the window as the oven whirred. The beginnings of a downpour were starting to show, dark clouds clustering in the sky and rain dripping down intermittently. Caspar sighed. No going outside today, then. He just hoped it wouldn’t be a full-on storm.

“I need a nap.”

Caspar snapped his head to look at his friend. “What?”

“I need a nap.” Linhardt repeated. “I’m tired.”

“Already?”

“Yes.”

“ _ Linnnnn. _ Come  _ on!”  _ Caspar whined.

“We have to wait for the cake to bake, anyway. Might as well nap now.”

“But we could do something whilst we wait!”

“No thanks.” Linhardt turned to the door. “You may join me if you wish.”

Caspar groaned. “No. You’re no fun.”

“Alright. Goodbye.” And with that, Linhardt began to walk away.

Caspar jumped and sprang towards the door. “Wha- no - I mean - I’ll  _ join _ , but like-”

  
“Come on then.”

  
  


-

  
  


The living room was dark. Caspar reached round the doorway as they walked in to turn on a lamp, but Linhardt swatted at his hand.

" _ Naptime _ ." he muttered, and Caspar sighed.

He was feeling impatient already. "How long will the cake take?"

Linhardt flopped onto the couch. "Mm… half an hour?"

Phrasing it as a question didn't exactly instill Caspar with confidence, but Linhardt's judgement was still better than his, so he went with it.

Rain pattered outside. It trickled down the windows in the living room, droplets racing each other to the windowsills. Caspar was sure that was the only fun part of rain, though he far too frequently found himself rooting for the raindrop that ended up losing. He wasn't in the mood to lose today.

Caspar trailed over to the couch and plopped down next to Linhardt, who had curled up into a ball already, head squished into a cushion. 

"It's too cold." Linhardt grumbled, though his eyes were shut and it seemed to Caspar that he could fall asleep just fine.

Caspar glanced around the room for a blanket, but already knew there were none. After all, his and Linhardt's houses were similarly lacking in such homely comforts. 

Instead, Caspar did the next best thing, which was to tug at Linhardt's sleeve until he opened his eyes, then pull him back so that Caspar could wrap his arms around him. 

" _ Caspar _ ." Linhardt said, but with only a pinch of real annoyance in his voice.

Caspar shuffled himself into a more comfortable position on the couch, laying longways across it. Linhardt was sandwiched between the back of the couch and Caspar, an arm slung over his friend's chest.

"Comfy?" Caspar asked.

"Mmph." 

He took that as a yes.

Despite Linhardt's earlier complaints, Caspar could've sworn  _ he _ was the colder one, because after just a few seconds he noticed the heat radiating from the arm over his chest. Maybe it was just a ploy to use him as a pillow, Caspar pondered. Well, whatever. He was pretty comfy too. He wouldn't mind actually taking a nap now.

Caspar’s eyelids fluttered shut as Linhardt sighed deeply, nestling himself further down into the soft fabric of the back of the couch. But as comfortable as it was, Caspar couldn’t settle into sleep as quickly as his friend did. Instead he laid awake, listening to the rain as it grew faster and faster. He couldn’t help but clench his fists slightly each time the raindrops on the window became louder. It was definitely a storm. 

As the weather worsened, Caspar felt the urge to toss and turn and hide. But there were no blankets to cover himself with, and Linhardt’s arm was still thrown over his body, so-

A crack of thunder. Caspar jolted.

"Uhh, Lin?"

Stirring slightly, Linhardt hummed.

There was another burst of thunder, and Caspar jumped. He sat upright, Linhardt’s arm around him slipping away. Caspar took hold of his friend’s hand quickly before it left for good.

Linhardt’s eyelids slowly lifted. “What’s going on?” 

“O-Outside.” Caspar stuttered, despite wishing himself to have a steady voice.

The green-haired boy lifted his head to look at the window. “Oh.” he said simply.

Caspar tightened his grip on Linhardt’s hand, their fingers interwoven. 

“Swap.” Linhardt said, voice hoarse. 

“Huh?”

“Swap places. You lie where I was. It’s comfortable.” Linhardt paused to take another glance at the window, then turned back to Caspar. “And safe.”

Linhardt sat up and shuffled to the end of the couch, and Caspar wasted no time in shifting himself into the space left for him. Their hands left each other briefly, but reconnected as soon as Linhardt laid back down.

Instantly, Caspar felt safer. He had an arm round Linhardt, and their legs were intertwined. Linhardt was warm and soft, his breaths even and his eyes already closed. Caspar dared to close his own eyes again, and instead of fright in the darkness, he found comfort. Everything was ok. 

Another clap of thunder rolled in, and Caspar pressed his face into Linhardt’s shoulder. 

“It’ll pass soon enough.” Linhardt whispered. “In the meantime, think of how much you’re going to enjoy that horrible cake we’ve made.”

Caspar felt a smile cut through the fear. He’d enjoy that cake, extra flour and all.

Thunder came again, and Caspar felt a squeeze on his hand. He unpeeled his eyes and looked over to see Linhardt's hand in his. He'd almost forgotten it was there. But Linhardt was holding on tighter now, anchoring him, and his skin tingled slightly at the contact. Caspar then realised that this was the hand where Linhardt's soulmark lay. As another roar of thunder echoed, Caspar brought his thoughts back in time. Back to a happy time, when he and Linhardt had sleepovers and playdates almost every day. Their various games in which Linhardt would, more often than not, be in need of rescue. Their lunches together, when Caspar got told off for playing with his food, so he would do it anyway, behind his father's back, because it made Linhardt chuckle. The time Linhardt got his soulmark, how crazy it was that he got it when Caspar was there to witness it, and how Linhardt's eyes were filled with fascination for the next few weeks. 

He gazed at Linhardt's soulmark now. It couldn't be more different from him, all harsh and abrupt, so Caspar supposed that his soulmate was very much his polar opposite. He wondered briefly if Linhardt's soulmate would need comfort during storms just like he did.

Caspar felt Linhardt shift slightly. He glanced up to see him looking quizzically at him, deep blue eyes still sleepy. Caspar blinked at him, then moved to tuck his head into the crook of Linhardt's neck. 

A crack of thunder occurred again, and Caspar tensed, but it was much quieter this time.

"It's going away." Linhardt said softly.

They stayed like that for several minutes, as the rain went from thrashing at the window panes to trailing slowly down them.

"I believe the thunder's gone" Linhardt stated some moments later, squeezing Caspar's hand. 

Caspar pushed himself up and gazed out the window. The rain had slowed considerably, and the sky was beginning to clear of clouds.

Linhardt moved too, sitting up and taking away his hand.

Caspar turned to hurriedly croak, “No, wait! Stay.”

“It's been half an hour at least. The cake will burn if we leave it any longer.”

“Oh.”

"I know you'll eat it anyway, but I'd rather you didn't eat something that's burnt to a crisp." Linhardt yawned and stood up.

Caspar remained on the couch, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. He settled on twiddling his thumbs as he watched Linhardt amble back to the kitchen, feet dragging with fatigue. Then Caspar realised that Linhardt probably wanted him to come help, so he sprung to his feet and followed the smell of over-baked cake to the kitchen.

"It turns out we left it for forty-five minutes." Linhardt said as Caspar stepped into the room. 

"Hey, that's not too bad." 

Linhardt gave a short laugh. "By your standards."

Caspar leaned on the counter and tapped his fingers on its surface. "Wait - was that an insult?"

"No, Caspar." Linhardt began to busy himself with the cake, pushing it off the baking tray and onto a cooling rack. Caspar just about caught what he said shortly afterward, under his breath: "It never is."

Caspar smiled, his chest warming with something similar to pride. He reached forward to get the cake out the mould.

"Caspar don't-!"

Of course, Linhardt's warning was too late. Caspar had already touched the scalding hot material and was very much burned. He felt a vague sense of déjà vu course through him at the sensation. Though they'd never baked a cake before, they'd definitely been in situations where Caspar had given himself a stupidly preventable injury.

Caspar swore under his breath as he retracted his hand.

"Come here." Linhardt said as if by reflex, gesturing towards the sink. 

Caspar stretched his hand out under the tap and Linhardt turned it on, cool water rushing onto the burn. 

"Ok." Caspar said after a minute or so. "Thanks."

Linhardt shook his head and sighed. "Let's leave it now, ok?"

“Yeah. But as soon as it’s cool, I’m having a slice.”

“Of course.”

There was a pause, and Caspar thought for a moment. After such a huge storm, there’d be far too much mud out there. If he went outside now, he’d only slip over. And he should stay away from any activity involving potential injuries, too, otherwise Linhardt would worry himself sick. So, Caspar resolved, there was only one thing to do now.

"Hey… are you still tired?" he asked.

"Hm? I suppose so. Why?"

"Well, I mean, I'm up for a nap now. A proper one. Like, now that the storm's gone and the cake's cooling.”

Linhardt's face crinkled into a smile. "Sounds wonderful."

**Author's Note:**

> as soon as I thought about a lin/cas soulmates au, I knew I had to write one. like. instantly. so here it is! I'm kinda just making up my own 'rules' to this au, so here's a brief outline to make things clearer:
> 
> [your mark first appears anytime from age 8 to 12. this first appearance isn't your full mark, though. when you're 16, typically around or on your birthday, your mark will develop again and the design will be complete. marks are patterns that represent the general attitude, temperament, and personality of your soulmate. as it's only a pattern, however, they aren't easy to 'figure out' and most don't actually realise the links between their mark and their soulmate until they've fallen in love with them. when two soulmates acknowledge their feelings for eachother, their marks will develop for the final time, gaining an element from eachother's marks on their own, so that each person has a mark that shows both their soulmate and themself. this stage of the process represents the joining of two souls.]


End file.
